A Christmas Letter
by Greenpeapanda
Summary: Severus Snape had a routine on Christmas. He would wake up, take a long bath, read Potion's articles he dog-eared the day previous, then open up his two gifts- one from Albus and the other from Minerva. Yet on Christmas 1991, that all changed thanks to Miss Hermione Granger who started sending her Potion's Professor a gift each year to earn his respect, but got so much more. SS POV
1. Chapter 1

_**Happy Holidays! Occasionally, I have been known to indulge in sentimental moods around Winter holidays, and this is a result of such sentimentality. This is a Christmas story spanning eight years involving the beloved, Miss Hermione Granger and the less beloved, Professor Severus Snape. Each chapter will be two years, and the Epilogue will be posted on Christmas Day. If the thought of a growing mutual affection between Severus and Hermione makes you slightly ill or angry, I bid you adieu- I hope you have a lovely holiday.**_

 _ **With that, enjoy.**_

 **25 December, 1991**

Severus Snape looked down at the three gifts that laid inconspicuously on his large ebony desk with an expression of bewilderment.

It was Christmas morning, and like every one before, he rose at five am, took a long bath, and read articles in Potions Weekly he had ear-marked the day before. After eating a small breakfast of toast, sausage, and tea, he made his way to his office to unwrap his gifts from Albus and Minerva and work further on his research for a new potion he had brewing in his laboratory. This year, however, there was a third package.

The first two were easily recognizable to Severus. Albus' package was wrapped in dark blue paper with twinkling gold stars and was tied up with an ostentatious, sparkly, gold ribbon. Minerva's gift was neatly wrapped in brown paper with a twine chord holding together its meticulously folded seams. The third present was unknown. It was wrapped in blue and white striped paper and had a small silver bow attached to the top.

Severus whipped out his wand and cast as many identify spells as he could think of over the whole lot of packages with a fervor one could only associate with extreme paranoia. Every spell sent off the same muted white light as the last. There was no hexes, curses, jinx, or poison looming beneath the coverings of any of the packages. This result disturbed the potion master to no end. He used his wand to gently set the gifts from Minerva and Albus to the side, and he focused his attention on the mystery package.

For good measure, he cast his detection spells a second time to rule out interference with the other gifts as a possible reason for the resulting white flashes. Alas, the last spell was cast, and a white glimmer shone off the wrapping, taunting him for his caution. Knowing that he looked like a mad-man, but not caring, he backed up to a safe distance and began muttering a spell to tear away the paper. When the last of the blue and white wrapping fell away without incident, he stepped marginally closer to inspect the box. Laying on top was a small card with a beautifully painted picture of poinsettias and "Happy Christmas" written in elegant, swirling calligraphy.

Very slowly and carefully, he reached out for the card. He felt no immediate burning or change in his thought patterns, so he continued on and picked it up. The card was printed in heavy card stock with a rough linen texture, upon opening, he found familiar handwriting.

 _Professor Snape,_

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _Hermione J. Granger_

He would never admit it to a soul, but the simply wrapped gift from the incessantly annoying first year was the first he had received in all of his years of teaching. He felt a twinge of gratefulness strike a chord in his heart. Setting the card down with a huff, he set aside the feeling of foolishness that welled up inside him at his paranoia from receiving a gift, and opened the box. Inside was six fine crystal vials tucked delicately into a mound of white tissue. Upon closer inspection, the vials were actually engraved on the bottoms with his name. _Master Severus Snape._ The sentiment was not lost on the surly, black haired man.

The entirety of the Hogwarts staff and student body forgot that he did indeed have a Mastery in Potions. It was not a measure usually taken among the faculty at Hogwarts, as all that was needed for professorship was the successful completion of an apprenticeship, but Severus was ambitious and his love for Potions lead him to devote three years of his life to grueling Potion's research. He was actually the youngest person in Britain in over a century to have a Mastery in Potions. He had never insisted that students call him by his formal title, because he never saw it as worth the effort. If he forced the school to acknowledge his mastery, he would likely be saddled with even more duties. Between his classes, overseeing Slytherin House, and his responsibilities as a spy, he barely had room to work on his personal research, and he would not give that up for something as vain as being called by a title. Though, a small voice in his mind reminded him, it felt good to hear.

After carefully storing the vials away in his personal laboratory, he tucked the card in-between the pages of _Antidotes and Poisons,_ then made his way back to the other gifts with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

 **25 December, 1992**

Severus Snape was lounging on a delightfully cushy armchair in his quarters reading a thought provoking article from _Potions Quarterly_ about the antidotal efficacy of bezoars relative to the goat's nutritional intake when a knock came at his door. Knowing that only one person in the entire castle had the stones to knock on his personal chamber doors, he called Albus in. The Headmaster was dressed in robes reminiscent of Father Christmas- deep red fabric with white fur and gold trim, a matching hat, and silver and gold baubles hanging from around his neck and waste.

"Ah, Severus," he greeted kindly. "You are the only one I know that can resist the lure of awaiting presents on Christmas morning."

Severus rolled his eyes at Albus' obvious attempt at light conversation to lessen the blow of whatever the old man would ask for. "What do you want Albus?" He asked while looking down at his watch. "It is hardly eight, and I am not due for any social interactions until lunch at noon."

Albus' genial smile faded minutely. "It seems that a child had a mishap with a Potion, and she is in the hospital ward in need of your attention."

A groan escaped Severus' pursed lips. Christmas was the one day he allowed himself to relax and rid himself of his many obligations. Whatever student dared to interrupt his peace was surely going to regret it. "Who exactly is in the hospital ward, Albus?" Severus ground out.

The headmaster hesitated for a short moment before softly saying, "Miss Hermione Granger."

The girl, he determined, would be the death of him. She laid in a white hospital bed at the back of the ward, surrounded by curtains. When he pushed them to the side, he was most decidedly not prepared for what he saw. She was covered in fur, her button nose transformed into a small snout, and a set of cat's ears sprouted from the top of her head. He simply could not hold back the rolling laughter that burst forth at her forlorn expression in her current state. Just when he figured he was done laughing, her whiskers twitched with irritation and he saw a tail flick from behind her, and his loud gaffes came back again.

She looked near on the verge of either crying or telling him where to stuff it by the time he quieted down. He was tempted to keep laughing to see just how she handled it, but Madam Pomfrey's 'I will kill you very slowly and no one will ever suspect me' glare stamped down his ideas. Severus knew exactly what was wrong with Miss Granger and exactly how to fix it from the moment he saw her furry face, but the recent loss of supplies from his cupboard made him less kind- even if a small part of him admired her cunning.

"Miss Granger," he drawled in his usual bored voice of displeasure. "Would you be so kind as to regale me with the tale of how you ended up in this state." His eyes flickered briefly to her tail, and he focused all of his will on not laughing at his own joke.

She, every the observant student, saw the flicker of amusement in his black eyes and the double entrendre in his words. Her mouth turned down and a bit of feline canines shown beneath her lips. "I received a gift for Yule that seemed to have backfired," she replied shortly.

Severus shot a heavy look at Madam Pomfrey, who retreated to her office with a deep sigh, and he turned back to his student. In a soft voice, he growled, "I know that you were brewing Polyjuice, Miss Granger. I also know that it was _you_ that stole from my Potion's cupboard."

Her face seemed to pale at his words, her pupils dilating, and her breath hitching. She looked near a panic attack, which Severus figured she deserved for showing such a blatant disregard for school rules. However, he also felt a shred of sympathy for the girl. She was an undoubtedly hideous cat and would likely stay that way until the counter-potion could finish brewing in two weeks. He also knew that if it was one of his Slytherins, he would most likely commend them for the craftiness they displayed. While scolding them slightly for messing up, he would take pride in knowing that one of his students had brewed a potion above their year with adequate talent. Taking this into consideration, he continued his speech. "Your current state leads me to believe that your competency is lacking. Thus, you will serve two detentions with me once you are able. Hopefully, in those detentions you will learn to brew Polyjuice to an acceptable consistency and pick out _human_ hair."

With a dramatic swish of his outer robes, he left the girl speechless.

Entering into his office, he found himself surprised once again by the presence of three gifts piled into a neat pyramid. Albus had outdone himself with paper that appeared like the night sky and a multi-colored bow that intermittently released tiny fireworks. Minerva's gift was the same as ever- brown paper meticulously folded and tied with matching brown twine. The third gift which sat at the top was dressed in silver paper and held together with a green and red striped bow.

For the sake of both consistency and to ease his ever-growing paranoia, he cast a series of detection spells on the stack, to once again find nothing of rapport.

Taking the third gift in his hands, he gently untied the bow and peeled back the paper to discover another box with a card on top. This years card had a watercolor rendition of a snowy cottage in a field and read "Yuletide Greetings" in the same elegant calligraphy. Inside the card read:

 _Professor Snape,_

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _Hermione J. Granger_

 _P.S. Sorry- You'll know why._

A smile broke out over his face, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled the lid of the box off. Nestled in more tissue was a small glass gar containing a sampling of Boomslang skin and a velvet bag with a Bicorn horn resting inside.

"That crafty girl."

 ** _Final Note: I do not own Harry Potter, but I do have rights to my original plot. Comments, critiques, and criticisms are welcome. If you like this story so far, it will update each Monday from now until the 24th (with slightly longer chapters). The Epilogue will be posted on the 25th. If remembering such things poses a difficulty, the "Follow" option will allow you to receive emails updates when new chapters are posted._**

 ** _As a present for all the have endured thus far: there will be two Epilogues. One for those that want to be left with a warm, cuddly feeling in their hearts, and one for those that enjoy the writings of Oscar Wilde._**


	2. Chapter 2

**25 December, 1993**

Severus was attempting to rub away the pain that was blooming behind his forehead with pinched fingers. It was a mystery why he suddenly decided to go to the Christmas morning breakfast, but as soon as he heard the inane blabbering of Harry Potter, he regretted his spontaneous extroversion. Harry Potter received a new broom for Christmas- a fact which nearly all inhabitants of Hogwarts seemed to be talking about. The only voice of reason amongst the swaths of odious children seemed to come from Hermione Granger. Why would the boy not want to check for a jinx or curse on his broom when his mass-murderer of a godfather was on the loose? Merlin only knows what went through that boy's empty skull.

Perhaps, Severus showed up to breakfast to see Hermione Granger.

In another disruption of his Christmas morning routine, while he was attempting to read a tantalizing article in _Brewer's Biannual_ about the potential use of powdered Bicorn horn in Wolfsbane to lessen the pain of transformation, he found himself overwhelmed by curiosity.

He knew that there was at least two gifts sitting in his office waiting for him to see their mediocre contents, but would a third be there? If he were honest with himself- and as a spy it was a necessity to know himself perfectly- he would say that the little warm feeling in his chest was hope. Hope that Hermione Granger had again given him a shockingly thoughtful Yule present, and said present would be atop his desk just a room away. He would be lying to himself if he thought that Miss Granger would not have been his favorite student had she been sorted into Slytherin and the Dark Lord's followers had not been monitoring his actions. While the girl lacked the innate intuition he possessed for potions, she was a quick study. He was sure that if he would be allowed to offer her private tutoring, she would be named the next prodigy in a years time.

Unable to set such thoughts aside, he wandered into his office with a carefully blank face and guarded hopes. His mask fell the second he saw the third present sitting on top of the other two, just as it had the year previous, and a small smile stretched across his lips. Preforming the detection spells was practically customary, and the second the last white flash appeared, he allowed himself to pick up her present- for it was surely from her. It was a flat, rectangular box wrapped in white paper with little silver snowflakes. The green bow that was tied around it came off with a simple tug, and beneath the paper, he found the card. This year's card was on the same thick card stock, but rather than a message in elegant, swirling script, it just had a lovely little watercolor painting of Hogwarts on a snowy day.

A thought clicked into place Severus' head: Miss Granger painted these cards every year, and most likely wrote the greeting that was absent that year. It wasn't a grand revelation, but it made the two cards which were tucked in-between the pages of his potion's books a bit more special. Severus usually tried to stray away from sentimentality, but he simply could not find it within himself to throw away the beautiful image of Hogwarts that his student painted just for him. Pushing away his thoughts on the subject, he opened the card to her note which read:

 _Professor Snape,_

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _Hermione J. Granger_

 _P.S. The boggart incident was really horrible._

 _P.P.S. I happened upon the knowledge that Professor Lupin is in the habit of leaving his office unlocked during lunch, and I'm not quite sure what to do with the information. Perhaps you would know._

A large grin broke out across Severus' face, an expression his body was unused to, and it hurt a little. None the less, he stored the information she had given him away with something akin to maniacal glee- a feeling he had few experiences with over the past few years. Popping the top off the flat box, he found only tissue paper. Folding the paper to the side revealed a finely crafted pair of dragon hide gloves.

Setting aside the box and card with a reverence he usually reserved for volatile potions, he picked up a glove and slipped it onto his left hand. It fit perfectly. Severus was left to wonder just how Hermione Granger had found such gloves. He had trouble over the years trying to find gloves that would fit his abnormally long, spindly fingers. Gloves that magically adjust size cannot be made of Dragonhide because of the magically resistant properties the hide carries naturally. Thus, he always had to special order gloves, which was expensive on a teacher's salary. So it begs the question, how did Hermione Granger get the measurements for his gloves? Better yet, how much did she pay for the gloves? Why did she give such an extravagant gift to the teacher that had made her time at Hogwarts miserable?

Hence why Severus showed up for Christmas breakfast. When he was sure no one would notice, he would glance at Miss Granger, hoping to reveal some of the mystery behind his present. By the end of the meal, he had no success in unraveling the mystery that was his most insufferable student. She was concerned over the welfare of her friend, and she enjoyed milk- not sugar- in her morning tea.

He left the breakfast briskly, intent on going back to his rooms and finishing his articles. However, sitting in his most comfortable wing backed chair with a glass of warm mulled wine, he could not stop his mind from straying back to Miss Granger. He racked his mind for hours and came up with three distinct possibilities: she lightly sprinkled daffodil root powder in class and measured the print his hand left when they were making shrinking solution, she paid off the shopkeep to make gloves with his previous measurements, or she guessed very well. The first sounded far too complex for a third year, the second was perhaps a bit too underhanded, and the third was against her very nature. Overall, he was perplexed.

When lunch began, Severus found himself again sitting at a table full of staff and students discussing worthless drivel. And again he found himself trying to puzzle out Hermione Granger. For that very reason, he was distracted enough to take the Christmas cracker from Albus. The bloody hat was ridiculous and humiliating. His blood boiled at Lupin's laughter and the headmaster's amused, twinkling eyes. As he slid his way back down into the dungeon, he figured it was high time to put Miss Granger's present to work. Donning his dragonhide gloves, he set to work in his lab.

He even noticed a smug smile on Hermione Granger's face the next day when Lupin came to dinner with a long goatee that would occasionally twist around his knees and trip the bastard. Severus managed to slyly catch her eye toward the end of the meal and gave her a slight tilt of his head in gratitude. She gave him a small smile in return before turning back to her friends. It was a good Christmas.

 **25 December, 1994**

It was not a good Christmas.

Christmas, for Severus, had always been a relaxing affair. He treated himself to a nice, long warm bath with a book for accompaniment. After his luxurious bath, he read all of the articles in Potion's journals he had been putting off due to his grating responsibilities as Potion's Master and Head of House of Slytherin. Presents had never been a prominent part of his Christmas up until four years ago, but he had not minded- no presents meant no obligations to reciprocate either in his time or gifts. He actually enjoyed Christmas, as opposed to the thoughts of many of the student body, because Christmas was the day he allowed himself to breath. This year was the opposite of everything Christmas should be in Severus' mind.

The Yule Ball was taking place later that day. He, as a faculty member, was obligated to set up and attend the loathsome affair in the name of 'international cooperation' or some drivel. Minerva, of course, was practically squealing with happiness as she had been nearly begging the Headmaster for a ball for ages. Severus had been attempting to weasel his way out of the event at every turn. He had dutifully tried to have a civil conversation with the Headmaster to begin with, but after he could not talk his way out of the ball, he resorted to other means. First, he talked the house elves into only serving mint flavored desserts at the staff table, effectively ridding Albus of his dessert (Oddly enough, for his sweet tooth, Albus hated mint). When the headmaster began bringing his own candy to dinner, Severus upped the ante and shrunk all of the old man's socks with a special concoction Severus had brewed until the only socks he had were fit for a babe. Albus had either bought all new socks or found a spell to counter the potion, because the headmaster was completely unaffected. In one last push, Severus altered all of the decorations he could get his wand on to fit a Slytherin aesthetic. After five minutes alone in the Great Hall, the garlands were wrapped in black tinsel with silver bulbs, the banners bore snakes in little red Christmas hats, streamers were green and silver, and all of the table cloths were a lovely shade of charcoal.

Minerva was appalled at the decoration change, he face turned burgundy and she shrieked, "Severus Snape! What did you do?" at the top of her lungs, going so far as to actually stamp a foot on the ground in anger. It was a moment Severus would treasure. His joy was quickly diminished when Albus casually walked in, following Minerva's wailing, and merely waved a wand, reversing Severus' alterations and quieting his Deputy Headmistress. Albus laughed merrily at Severus' scowl and pronounced, "It will take a lot more than that to rid yourself of the ball, Severus."

The evening passed at an excruciatingly slow pace. The event was an endless stream of teenage drama and horrid musical numbers. Severus' lip felt as if was stuck in a perpetual sneer as he watched the dunderheaded teenagers fumble their way through dancing. He managed to scare most of the children away from him by actually growling at Trelawney when she drunkenly asked if he would like to dance. Deciding to take a break from the stifling room and the company therein, he cheered himself up with a stroll around the courtyard, catching the miscreants who thought they could get away for a snog. The meager amount of happiness he gained from sending blushing school children back to their dorms was nothing in comparison to the joy he felt as he watched Miss Granger telling off Mr. Weasley. Second only to Potter, Ronald Weasley was Severus' least favorite student. The boy had far too much confidence in comparison to his actual abilities, a complete lack of manners, and the near shocking skill to constantly put his foot in his mouth.

After giving the pathetic boy a tongue lashing, Granger ran off, tears in her eyes, in the direction of Severus Snape. As she slowed down near the hall Snape had been watching the scene from, he picked up pace and swept passed the corner she was just passing. He slowed his pace fractionally just as he was about to pass her. The change in speed gave him just enough time to murmur, "five points to Gryffindor."

He did not stop and turn back to gauge her reaction, but rather he headed down to his rooms to salvage a bit of his waning Christmas Day.

Severus would loathe to admit it, but he was surprised when only two presents rested on the top of his desk. He quickly ripped open Minerva's brown package to reveal a pair of green and grey tartan slippers he would likely add to the collection of tartan that Minerva forced upon him over the years. The collection, which included a housecoat, duvet, a throw blanket, pillows, pajamas, a scarf, and mittens, took up residence at Spinner's end- making the entire place look like a Scottish fantasy. Luckily, he only had to occupy his home for two months of the year- a time in which nobody came to visit him. The second package was wrapped in bright red paper with gold bells that rang softly and a garish, green, glittering ribbon tied around it. The bow attempted to attach itself to his person when he tried to tug it away- likely Albus' way of getting back at him for shrinking his socks- but he swiftly flicked his wand and burned away the hideous ribbon. The gift was the same as it was every year, a box full of peppermint humbugs, dark chocolate Christmas biscuits, and a pair of black socks.

He had just finished laid the socks neatly in his drawer when a little bell rang in his chambers that alerted him to a student waiting in his office. The situation was not uncommon. Despite the almost universal dislike that students shared in his regard, Severus was still the only authority figure the Slytherins could turn to, so he often had students ring in his office at all times of day and night. He wished desperately that he could reform Slytherin House and push for better equality, but between his unpleasant -if not downright nasty- reputation he carried and his inability to safely challenge the status quo in his position as spy, he was in no position to aid his former house. So, he listened to their concerns, brought issues to Albus as he could, and told the snakes to stick together as it was unlikely for them to find help outside their house.

Opening his office door with a sigh, he prepared himself for the shallow troubles of youth, but found something else entirely.

Hermione Granger was sitting in the chair opposite his desk. Her hair still twisted elaborately from the Yule Ball, but she was no longer in the lilac dress that half of the young boys nearly embarrassed themselves seeing her in. She was enveloped in a over-large cobalt blue sweater with worn blue jeans underneath and a green box on her lap.

When he entered, she immediately stood as if she was about to be caught for rifling through his office, and clutched the box to her chest, nearly squashing the red and white striped bow at the top. "Professor Snape," she squeaked, her face blushing slightly.

He studied her curiously. She was embarrassed by his presence, which she had to have come to his office specifically to seek. The girl had taken the time to change out of her dress robes, but was in enough of a rush to see him that she had yet to loose her hair. She also carried a box quite similar to the ones she had given him the previous three years, yet had decided to hand deliver it. Severus found himself flummoxed by every aspect of her appearance.

"What is it that you require of me, Miss Granger?" he drawled in his usual tone, not letting his curiosity peak through his bored mask. She hesitated, her mouth opening and closing as she racked her brain for words, and Severus knew this would likely take up the last of his meager alone time for Christmas. He interrupted her lip-flapping with a long suffering sigh and settled into the chair behind his desk. "Believe it or not, Miss Granger, it is Christmas for the faculty as well. It would bring me a great deal of pleasure if you got over your dilly dallying and tell me what it is you need so that we may both enjoy a restful night." He knew that he undoubtedly sounded harsh, it was a trait he had carried with him throughout his life, but he was growing tired, and the girl had yet to speak a sentence worth his time.

Closing her eyes, she took a breath, and looked at him again with a steadier gaze. "Professor, I have debated for months on whether or not to give you this," she started, holding up the smooshed box, "I just need to know something first." Her lip quivered ever so slightly, betraying the nervousness behind her Gryffindor façade. Then she took yet another breath to steady her closing question, and continued, "Do you really mean all of the callous things you say?"

Severus stared at the girl in shock. He had known that his scathing comments to the Gryffindors were unkind, they were meant to be, but he never thought that they would affect her. His barbs were always close enough to the truth so that he could say them with conviction, but he tried to never go too far. He needed to retain his position as evil bat of the dungeons for his position among the Death Eaters, but he had always thought he knew when to stop. For instance, Neville Longbottom was objectively horrible at Potions. He was a danger to himself and those around him anytime he was in the presence of a cauldron. Thus, Severus made remarks about his incompetence- it was close enough to the truth to be convincing, but not cruel. Moody making a comment about Longbottom's parents when he preformed the cruciatis was cruel. Telling Potter he was arrogant and lazy was mean. Remarking on his mother's in-admirable qualities or his parents death was cruel. It was a line Severus had never thought he crossed until he saw the tears welling up in the corners of Miss Granger's eyes.

"Miss Granger," he began slowly, giving himself enough time to carefully chose his words. "I am sure you know very little of the world of Purebloods." She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to hotly protest, but he stopped her with a finger. Once he knew she would stay silent, even if she was glaring daggers at him, he continued, " _but_ every one of those Slytherin children tell their parents the same thing you do. It is on the Headmaster's orders that I remain in their favor. Do you understand?" His voice cracked nearly imperceptibly. He genuinely wanted the girl to understand- he did not want to be the evil professor that children wrote home about, but it was the role that he played. A role he played so well that he was unsure if he would ever be able to truly care again.

She appraised him, letting the silence in the wake of his explanation go stale and uncomfortable. She had evidently found what she was looking for, because a minute after his speech, she carefully laid the box on the table. "Thank you, Professor," she said simply and got up to leave.

Eyeing the crumpled present that had grown to mean so much to him, he looked back at the retreating girl and halted her with what little he could give her in return for her kindness. "Miss Granger," he called out before her hand touched the doorknob. "I have it on good report that Mr. Malfoy does not know the counter charm to Calvario. Perhaps you would be so kind as to teach it to him."

He couldn't see, but he could feel her crack a smile before she turned the knob and disappeared into the dungeons once more. Severus then turned his attention to the present on his desk. As much as it pained him to admit, he was disappointed when he did not find it sitting atop his usual Christmas gifts. Untying the bow felt like a small weight that had been tugging on his heart had fell away. Peeling back the paper revealed a familiar sight: a small card resting on a box.

The card had a lovely rendition of the Hogwarts Christmas tree twinkling with a bright star decorating the top. "Christmas Greetings" was written in swirling script, and the tail of the G wrapped around the middle of the tree with a flourish. Opening it carefully, he found her usual greeting.

 _Professor Snape,_

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _Hermione. J. Granger_

He allowed himself to rub his thumb lightly over her words, cherishing the good will she seemed to spread far enough to include him, before setting the card to the side. The box lid stuck slightly, but with enough soft prodding, it popped open. Inside was a book on muggle chemistry. Now, Severus had lived in the muggle world since he was eleven. He went to grade school and understood the fundamentals of chemistry. Yet, since he had entered into the magical world, he had not thought once about looking back. The chemistry book in front of him seemed to be a university textbook, as it was thick and quite hefty. Opening it up, he saw what could only be described as a Christmas miracle. The entire chapter he had flipped to had comments written all along the margins in the rounded script of Miss Hermione Granger. There was plenty of room for his own messy habit of writing in books, but she had given him a start. In the chapter on acids and bases, she wrote a small note about the stability of Polyjuice being affected by the amount of Fluxweed which is a known acid, therefore acting as a buffer to the basicity of the lacewing flies.

He knew the girl had a reverence for books that was borderline unhealthy, and to see her deface a textbook- no matter that the book would be extremely helpful to his research- was a gift within itself.

After tucking away her card into _Moste Potente Potions_ , he spent the last few hours of his Christmas lounging on his favorite chair, reading _Chemistry: A Molecular Approach,_ and making notes in his spiky script along the margins.


	3. Chapter 3

**25 December, 1995**

Severus had never wished, in all of his long, miserable life, to spend Christmas at Spinner's end. When he was young, he wanted to escape his parents at all costs- preferably to Lily's house. Then, when he was of school age, he opted to spend his holiday at school. Even as a Professor, he would rather stay at Hogwarts, hiding in his personal quarters and thwarting Minerva's more extravagant decorating tendencies, rather than go back to his childhood home. However, that year, Severus found himself wishing that he had opted out of holiday chaperone duty. The reason was Dolores Umbridge.

The woman had become the bane of his existence. Where once he would place his negative attention in the hands of Boy Wonder, the child who managed to both emulate all of his father's worst characteristics and Severus', he found himself reserving the spot of _Undesirable No. 1_ for the fat, pink toad-bitch, as he affectionately dubbed the woman. Dolores was the singularly most disgusting human Severus had ever had to share his company with- a position that was once coveted by James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and the Dark Lord himself. Everything about her, from the clacking of her ghastly pink kitten heels to her breathy, high pitched voice, grated on Severus' nerves. The only thing that kept him sane was imagining her long, excruciating demise- preferably at his own hand- in great detail.

He didn't care that the insipid woman was currently beating on his office door, no doubt blabbering on about an errant student; he had locked and warded his rooms so heavily that a cursebreaker would need days to dismantle his wards. He was determined to have a nice, relaxing Christmas following the same routine that he had perfected over the years. He woke up to the shrill sounds of Madam Umbridge screeching "Severus Snape!" outside his office, placed a silencing charm around the bathroom, then proceeded to take an hour long bath while he lazily flipped through an anthology of poetry; reading the cynicism of Wilde, the sorrow of Poe, and the boldness of Dickinson. Stepping out of the bath, he was shocked both by the unforgiving frigid air of the dungeons and screams of Madam Umbridge. For her screams were no longer out of annoyance, but rather in pain. It seemed to Severus that she had managed to peel back the first layer of wards and was now facing the wrath of the second layer.

Her pain-filled shrieks, like most sounds out of her lips, grew irritating quite quickly. So, he threw up another silencing spell around his chair and settled down to read.

By lunch time, Dolores had given up on her attempts to get his attention and left his chamber door in blissful silence. While he would usually attend Christmas lunch out of a sense of obligation to Albus, instead he spent the meal indulging in one of his many ignored hobbies: violin. The bouncing sounds of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D-major filled his chambers with a spirit he was afraid he would not feel again for a long while. His fingers were out of practice, and the tune was sloppy, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Only the growling of his stomach pushed him to set the violin back in its case, and call for a house elf to bring a meal.

Taking the platter of goodies to his office, he focused his attention on the three gifts on his desk. Sheerly from habit, he cast a quick round of detection spells on the group which gave off a harmless white light. Finally, he settled himself into his desk chair, took a bite of roast, and picked up _her_ present.

It was roughly the size of breadbox and wrapped with silver paper with a green and red striped bow. The bow, unlike Albus', came off with little resistance, and the paper was easily tossed to the side. Picking up the card, he inspected her artwork. This years image was more abstract that other years. The watercolors pooled at the bottom- blues and silver intertwining like water, and rising up out of the pool were light blue animals gracefully trailing across the page. Though the work was not magically animated, Severus could see the gently hops of the otter and the silvery footsteps it would leave. The otter, the stag, and the terrier danced around each other in a hauntingly beautiful wood, and though he knew it represented her and her dim-witted friends, he could not pull his eyes away.

He did not know how long he spent lightly tracing the imaginary steps of the animals, but eventually he redirected his attention to opening up the thick card stock.

 _Professor Snape,_

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _Hermione J. Granger_

 _P.S. If this gift actually reaches you, it means that Madam Umbridge has yet to regulate the mail coming in to the faculty and staff. I hope you can find some use for the contraband I dutifully confiscated from the twins._

The post script left an undeniable curiosity that he had no choice but to fulfill. Setting down her card delicately, he rounded on the box. Popping open the lid, he found the box divided into two distinct sides. One side was filled to the brim with Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes products which included: two small pouches of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, a box labeled Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs, a hand full of Dungbombs, and a little disk simply labeled "Dragon Fire". The other side looked to be something wrapped in cloth.

Extracting the cloth, making sure not to touch the pranking products lest one decided to go off, he held the bundle in his hands. With trepidation, after seeing the joke products, Severus slowly unwrapped the cloth as if what was underneath would bite him- which wasn't unlikely. After the last of the cloth fell away, he was left with an old book. Further inspection revealed the title to be _Antidotes and Antivenin: Brewing Survival_. It was an odd gift. He supposed that being her Potion's Master, he was relegated to gifts that fit within the realm of his profession, but there was something niggling at the back of his mind that said this book meant more. Opening the worn cover, he found a torn piece of parchment with a note in her rounded calligraphy.

 _Master Snape,_

 _I was searching through the Black Library and happened upon this book. I felt that it may help you with your obligations._

 _Hermione_

 _P.S. Sirius believes that this book is in my possession for the purpose of research and reference. I do not believe he would even notice if I were to keep the book as I am sure that he is afraid of libraries, so I hope that the book serves you well. This can be our secret._

Severus stared at the page, his thoughts pulling in a thousand different directions with each word, yet two words stood at the forefront of his mind. _Our_ and _Obligations._ Very few times in his life had he seen the word 'our' in reference to himself and another person. He rarely shared anything, let alone a secret, with others. The word unnerved him in a way that he knew was completely irrational, so he moved on to the other word. _Obligations._ He had always know that Hermione Granger was a smart girl. She picked up on concepts quickly with a fervor rarely seen among children. But he had not stopped to think of her intelligence- the analytical mindset that the girl must have underneath the mound of bushy hair. He knew that if this letter was intercepted, she had said nothing more incriminating than stealing a library book, yet her tone spoke volumes. She _knew._ Somehow the girl had taken the few sentences they spoke last Christmas and pieced together his role as spy. After all, who else would have obligations that would cause them to have an in-depth knowledge of antidote and antivenins besides top healers. He wasn't sure if her knowledge was an asset or a danger.

Then, there was the curious polarity between addressing him by his formal title- a formality that she had only shown once before- and her casual signature. As a man whose job was to pick up non-verbal social cues, whether in speech or writing, he found her letter curious. If his tumultuous mind was correct, she was more of a Slytherin than he had previously thought. Addressing him by _Master_ was a note at respect, yet using only her Christian name was a sign of familiarity usually seen between friends. She was essentially trying to initiate friendship. He was unsure whether he should be offended by the notion or pleased.

Deciding that he had thought about Hermione Granger enough for one day, Severus spent the rest of his Umbridge-free evening snacking on appetizers the house elves would bring at random times and reading through _Antidotes and Antivenin,_ using her card as a bookmark _._ Once it was nearing midnight, he set the book down on his end table, and looked toward the box which he had moved to his sitting room table. Picking up a small disk, his face lit with unholy glee.

On his way back to the dungeons from setting his trap, he looked around to make sure no one had noticed his presence, then whispered, "ten points to Gryffindor."

 **25 December, 1996**

As a spy, Severus knew that with the rebirth of his former Master, life would turn chaotic, yet it still surprised him when his Christmas routine was interrupted by the Dark Lord. He was barely awake, shuffling around with his grey, tattered bathing robe tied around his boney waist, when splitting pain raked up his forearm. Cursing to himself, Severus made his way back into his room. "Who the bloody, buggering hell has meetings at five in the morning on Christmas?" He grumbled to himself as he donned his black robes and fumbled around in his closet for the silver mask the Dark Lord insisted they wear like fucking cultists. Not that they weren't a cult, but usually the sociopathic, tosser of a leader didn't advertise, like a gormless pig, that he was making a cult.

Severus groaned as his back popped and the pain in his forearm intensified with the Dark Lord's impatience. "Oh shut it, you great bloody twit!" he growled at the air, whilst shoving shoes on his feet.

Once he was dressed, he took two seconds to secure his Occlumency shields around his distasteful thoughts, then dashed toward his private exit.

* * *

Spending his Christmas with the Dark Lord was unpleasant. There was no cheerful music, holiday biscuits, or gift giving. Rather, they spent the morning listening to him wax on about the Potter brat and how he was positive he would kill him next time, while secretly thinking he was mad as a sack of ferrets. Then, for lunch, they had a delicious feast set before them, prepared by one of the battered Malfoy elves, while Nagani slithered over their toes and lightly licked their ankles- and the Dark Lord wondered why no-one ate. Severus spent most of the meal attempting to reign in his desire to strangle Draco until he saw reason and avoiding Narcissa's distressed eyes. Voldemort even had the gall to stand at the meal and declare the group of terrified Death Eaters- and Bellatrix- a merry, happy family. Afterwards, Bellatrix lead the party, as if she was Father Christmas giving gifts to young children, outside muggle London to torture families of muggles. Severus held his stomach through the subsequent brutalization and death of twelve muggles- six of whom were children- and managed to grant four of the children painless deaths. It was not much to offer, but he hoped, from the last dredges of his heart that remained, that those children didn't suffer.

Having his Christmas thoroughly ruined, Severus slunk back to Hogwarts the second Voldemort released the Death Eaters from their involuntary Christmas party. Unlike normal revels, he was not the only dour faced Death Eater that left Malfoy Manor at the first available opportunity.

The stricken, stormy grey eyes of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy trailed after his dark robes until he disapparated to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Back in his dark, sparsely furnished chambers, Severus found himself restless. The stone walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating his mind with thoughts of children's screams and cruel laughter. Quickly divesting himself of his black formal robes and setting the silver mask on its shelf at the back of his closet, he nearly ran to his personal bath. However, he found that his attempt at restoring his routine merely made the irregular beats of his frantic heart that much stronger. The hot water reminded him of blood, its thick, sticky texture running up his hands- marking him as a killer. The steam that filled the air brought memories of Bellatrix cackling over the body of a young mother whose skin was bubbling as her blood boiled in her veins.

His movements were jerky as he shut off the water and stumbled back into his bedroom. He paid no mind to the greasy locks of hair that fell in his face or the threads of fabric on fraying edges of his robe that his feet tore at with every step. Instead, he ripped away the dirty robes from his body, throwing them in an untidy heap at the foot of his bed. His hands shook as he slipped on fresh set of high collared robes over a clean button up shirt and slacks. He paid no mind to the wrinkles in the fabric which he would usually meticulously iron out with his wand, but instead put his energy into leaving his chambers at a breakneck speed. Although he nearly ran, he was sure that no student had noticed his movements by the time that he reached his favorite place at Hogwarts.

Around him was four tall, grey stone walls that reached high into the heavens. The chapel styled windows glittered down at him with golden light from the setting sun. Orange and pink tones from the remaining beams of daylight bounced off of the bare branches of birch trees that dotted the courtyard, setting them aglow. His weight caused the grass beneath his feet to crackle with displeasure as he made his way to the lone stone bench in the center of the sanctuary.

It was an area he had found in his fifth year at school by pure luck. The marauders were on a particularly cruel rampage, one which ended in Severus making the third worst mistake of his life. James Potter was jeering on about 'washing Snivellus' greasy head', his cronies following behind and adding in their own clever quips, when Severus stumbled upon a shimmering archway. Figuring that his odds were low being outnumbered four to one, he slipped through the archway to discover a lush, green garden. The Marauders walked passed the doorway without a glance in his direction, mumbling 'Where did the greasy git run off to?' Ever since, he would visit the courtyard when he needed a safe place escape from the bitter reality of existence.

Lowering himself onto the cold, stone bench, he felt the horrors in his mind soothed away by the harmonious whispers of the wind winding through bare branches. His occulmency shields strengthened under the cool breeze, and he let out a frosty breath as he relaxed. Severus had not realized how long he sat on the bench, surrounded by dead foliage, with his head in his hands, just breathing, but when he felt Albus' presence, that last rays of sun were long gone.

Lifting his head from his hands, he saw Albus' festive green robes glimmering through the doorway as the old man stepped through. His wrinkled face was crinkled into a jolly grin, and his bright, blue eyes twinkled with untold mischief. Held in-between his blackened hand and his functioning hand was a stack of Christmas presents. Severus had completely forgotten the holiday among the day's atrocities his mind had only just begun to come to terms with.

"Ah, Severus, there you are," Albus greeted genially, though the faintest glimmer of concern flicked behind his half-moon spectacles. "I believe you forgot about these," he said, knowingly while setting the stack beside Severus on the bench. "Pardon my curiosity, but I was under the impression that Minerva and I were the only ones that you had allowed gifts from."

Albus conjured himself a plush, velvet, maroon wing-backed chair, gently lowered himself onto the cushion with a faint groan, then looked up at Severus with an expectant grin. Severus held back a groan of his own. He could recall the last time he was forced to open gifts in front of another human, and it was due to the bothersome man staring unabashedly at him. "Very well," Severus growled, and picked up Minerva's simple, brown box.

The Headmaster watched on, making small comments as Professor Snape revealed a grey tartan table runner ("That would be quite lovely with a bouquet of sunflowers and red placemats") from Minerva and the typical assortment of sweets with a pair of black socks ("I truly wish I had a taste for mint. It would make the holidays even more enjoyable") from Dumbledore himself. The final present rested alone on the bench, its glittering silver bow wrapped around simple red paper sparkling in the moonlight. Looking at the gift he had come to covent so highly, Severus found himself unwilling to share the moment with his most trusted friend. Instead of indulging Albus' curiosity, Severus turned to a subject that would bring back his self-destructive mood.

"Twelve muggles were killed today."

The amusing twinkle in Albus' eyes faded to a hard glint, his sunny expression darkening. "Let us talk in my office."

Severus called for a house elf to take the unwrapped gifts and the flat, red box back to his quarters and followed Albus to recount his latest sins with the hope that one day he could repent for every deed he performed in the name of the greater good.

* * *

"Do tell me what Miss Granger gave you at breakfast tomorrow," Albus called out just as Severus reached the doorway to the stairs. Turning back briefly, he found the Headmaster's eyes twinkling with their usual mirth- even if it was dulled. Keeping his occulmency shields up and a carefully blank expression he replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The headmaster gave him an indulgent smile that hinted at greater knowledge. "Of course, Severus. I wouldn't let anyone know how sentimental of a man you have become," the old man grinned and plopped a lemon drop in his mouth. Smug bastard.

Turning away without another word, Severus made his way back down to the dungeons. Every tap of his boots on the floor increased the curiosity that welled up in his chest, taking away the dark thoughts with the rising anticipation he felt. When he reached his office, he could only be described as slightly apprehensive and a tad joyful. The flat, red box sat on his desk waiting for him patiently, and the sight made his face crack into a smile.

He settled into his worn leather chair, his curiosity coming to a climax, and cast his normal detection spells. White light bounced off of the odd specimens that lined shelves along the wall, and after the last spell, he tugged off the bow. Silver glitter littered the tabletop as the ribbon fell away from the package, yet Severus was too preoccupied with carefully peeling away the paper to take notice. When the paper came away, a beautiful card greeted him.

Soft blues, browns, and grays were mixed with hints of yellows, pinks, and green in a snowy scene painted on thick, creamy card stock. In a snowy wood, a couple gracefully skated around a small pond. The girl's back was arched into a playful dip, her deep blue cloak pooling underneath her on the ice while the man grinned down at her, his arm wrapped underneath her affectionately. The ice glinted in the early morning, reflecting back the forest green of the man's sweater and the whites of their skates. Severus didn't know if it was imagination or magic, but he felt as if he could see the frozen lake encircled by trees in a dense forest and hear the tinkling laughter of the woman as she looked up at the man with adoration in her eyes. Suddenly, he realized the significance of the scene. The man's hazel eyes, curly brown locks, and serious demeanor was an exact replica of Hermione Granger's features. Seeing the similarities, he looked at the woman and saw her delicate eyebrows, round face, and upturned nose. Those people, so obviously in love, were Hermione Granger's parents.

Severus was shocked.

Miss Granger- Hermione Granger- had trusted him with a bit of herself. Since she was a muggleborn, he had little chance of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Granger, but now he had a glimpse. Severus had no clue why such a inconsequential detail about her life had such a substantial affect on him. His heart twitched as he lightly ran his thumb over the exquisite scene, and he decided to set the card to the side rather than confront the feelings welling in the bottom of his heart.

The lid popped off the box without fanfare, and he found himself grinning from ear to ear. Nestled in a bed of plain white tissue paper was an stunning chess board with elegantly carved black and white pieces lined up beside it, yet what made him smile was the book sitting on top. _The Chess of Human Manipulation._ Chuckling to himself, he opened the book gingerly and was met with note on torn parchment.

 _This set does is not enchanted. For reasons you can guess, I have found myself averse to the violence of wizard chess._

 _The book was too quintessentially Slytherin for me to disregard when picking out your gift. I thought you would find Chapter 12 particularly informative._

 _Hermione_

He quickly flipped to chapter 12, and his chuckles turned into full-bellied laughter. _Chapter 12: The Art of Maneuvering Teenagers into Willingly Behaving._ As his laughter died down, the delicate ice skaters caught his eye, and reminded him that he didn't actually read her card. Picking up the thick paper once more, he flipped it open to her rounded script.

 _Professor Snape,_

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _Hermione J. Granger_

There was no post script. For a reason Severus would not admit, the lack of a short message threw him off. The painting on the front was intensely personal, and yet the inside was so neutral. It felt wrong.

Pulling out his wand, and berating himself for how bothered he was by the absence of a sentence, he cast a quick _Revelio._ Nothing happened. A heavy feeling began to settle in his chest when words began scribbling themselves along the bottom of the page.

 _I find myself at a crossroad. On one hand, my best friend is determined to believe only the worst of you, and in most cases, you do not attempt to disprove him. Yet, my heart seems equally as determined to believe in the best of you. Maybe it was our short conversation in two years ago, or a misguided belief that there is good in everyone, but I find myself trusting you. I hope that you do not prove me wrong._

Severus stared down at her words, his heart clenching painfully. The emotion he steadfastly refused to acknowledge swelled in his chest as his eyes prickled. Holding the card both gingerly and tightly, he murmured, "I fear that I will."

 _ **A.N./ I hope you are enjoying the story thus far! Feel free to leave a review with any comments,**_ ** _criticisms, or critiques as I am sure that I absolutely butchered British slang and could always use good critiques. The epilogues will be uploaded later in the day tomorrow, so I hope you all stick around! Have a lovely day and Happy Holidays!  
_**


	4. Epilogue 1- The Happy Ending

**25 December, 1997**

Tears. Tears dripped down his long, hooked nose, as Severus Snape stood in the Headmaster's chambers and stared out at the school he had once felt of as a home. He was disheveled- his authoritarian, black robes were half buttoned, his greasy hair was tangled from aggressively running his hand through it, and dark smudges stained his under eye. No children were skittering around the courtyard or throwing snowballs beside the lake- nor would they. He finally had the position he had longed dreamed of achieving, but instead of the finest wizarding school in Europe, he was forced to oversee a prison. Every time he saw their hate-filled glares, heard their pained screams, or stood by as they ran away in fear, a bit of his heart shattered.

He longed, as a man dying of thirst dreams of water, to fire the Carrows and put up as many wards between the children and the outside world as possible. Severus wanted more than anything for Hogwarts to be safe. He wanted to be known as the greatest Headmaster the school had ever seen; he planned to separate the House Cup from the Quidditch cup, promote unity, and create a summer program for children from families such as his. Yet, he would be known as the cruel man that allowed the cruciatus curse to be used as a learning tool, and upon the takedown of the Dark Lord, he would lose any chance of retaining his position as Headmaster- for good reason. However, this knowledge didn't stop him from dreaming that it could be different.

Even Christmas served to exacerbate his feeling of abject, miserable solitude. His desk stood barren as Dumbledore's trinkets whirled and ticked around it. Dumbledore's eccentrically wrapped gift would never come- his only confidant was dead at his own hand. Minerva's simple brown package would not be waiting to add yet another green, tartan item to his house. Yet even worse, the third gift would not be niggling at his curious tendencies. Hermione Granger could be dead, and he would not know. Or, his traitorous mind reminded him, she could be alive and cursing his name as the man that killed her beloved Headmaster and tortured her friends.

Suddenly, as if a light flicked on in a remote corner of his attic of memories, an idea crossed his mind. _Antidotes and Antivenin._ It was the gift Hermione had presented to him in her fifth year with the note _"I felt that it may help you with your obligations."_ The book had made him question whether or not she was a seer when Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagani, but he had forgotten about it entirely amongst his growing workload. No, the girl was not a seer, but rather she was a devious young woman.

Severus was no fool, he truly did not expect to see next Christmas, let alone tomorrow. The life of a spy was one in which every second held the risk of discovery, and Severus knew the consequences should the Dark Lord learn his true allegiances. Yet, as he frantically tore through the bookshelves that lined his chamber, hope blossomed in his heart. Why had he not thought of carrying antidotes on his person? The true, dark answer resided in a corner of his conscious he avoided. _He did not believe he was worth saving._ Yet, this girl- young woman- did. Hermione Granger believed him worthy of living, and that simple thought gave way to a spark of desire. A desire to live.

Severus Snape found, as he scored through the thick volume with a vigor he had not felt in years, that he wanted to live. He wanted to burn Spinner's End to the ground, cackling over the flames like a madman, and start fresh. He wanted just one person to know that he was not a monster- to know that he was a man that grew up in a bad situation, made poor choices, but tried to overcome it all. So, he poured that ambition he thought was long gone into potions. He made lists of antidotes to spells or potions that the Dark Lord would likely use as revenge. Then, at the bottom of the list he wrote _Nagani's antivenin_ in his spiky script.

As he was laying out cauldrons on the dining table of his personal chambers, he heard a pop come from his office. His wand was in his hand in an instant as he crept toward the source of the sound. When, he opened the door to the office and looked down the spiral stairs to the room within, he was stopped by the presence of an object.

On the large, intricately carved mahogany desk that had once sat Albus Dumbledore and every Headmaster before was a vial. Cautiously making his way down the stairs, he saw a note tied to the neck. Ever vigilant, Severus waved his wand and cast every detection spell in his arsenal, yet only one spell came back with a red flash. Poison. Inching closer, he lifted the note with his wand and noticed familiar rounded calligraphy.

 _Headmaster,_

 _I have to believe there is hope in you still, for if there isn't, I would find myself irrevocably lost._

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _H.J.G_

 _P.S. I came across this today and believed you could find a use for it._

The vial contained a minuscule amount of a clear, slightly yellow liquid. A liquid that registered as poison.

That incredibly stupid, kind, crafty woman. A myriad of emotions ran through his body like wildfire. He was elated that she held onto hope that he wasn't as villainous as he seemed, terrified at the thought of her "coming across" a large, magical, venomous snake and somehow collecting its venom, and optimistic for a sliver of a chance at having a future. In that moment, determination ripped through his being.

With a fervor that bordered frantic, Severus brewed. He used his bubbling cauldrons as an escape from the pain and guilt he felt at the sight of the students. He took solace in the faint churning sounds of the potions, the heat of the flames, and tinkling of crystal as he ladled out each new potion into small vials with the name _Master Severus Snape_ engraved onto the bottoms.

 **24 December, 1998**

Severus stared down at the blank parchment laying, unfulfilled on his desk. His quill was sharpened and the tiny pot of ink was full, yet he hesitated. His entire being screeched at him to toss the letter and avoid the consequences that would inevitably unfold. Yet, a small voice in the back of his brain that sounded annoyingly like Albus Dumbledore told him that he had wasted enough of his life meticulously thinking out every action. He reached for the quill, but rather than writing, he twirled it around his fingers and laid his gaze on the room he occupied.

The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves stuffed to the brim with new and old tomes sorted first by subject, then alphabetically by author- truly the only logical way to organize books. In the center of the room, he sat at a large, dark walnut desk. Vines crawled up its edges with carved woodland creatures dancing underneath their leaves, and the drawers were decorated with gently waving branches that swayed under a nonexistent breeze. Sometimes he would find himself running his finger along the intricate carvings when he was focusing on a particularly difficult problem or musing over the events of his life thus far. It was by far the most expensive piece of furniture in the room, but he could not find it within himself to part with it's beveled edges and polished curves. In the corner sat a pair of forest green, wing backed chairs on either side of a dark, round end table with a simple lamp atop. Over one of the chairs lay a green tartan blanket with a worn paper back forgotten in its folds. The room was his new sanctuary.

The room was one of many in his new home. After the war, he burned his childhood home to ashes, and it felt just as liberating as he imagined. While he did not stand around laughing manically over the remnants of his house, as he had a very fragile reputation to maintain lest he end up in Azkaban, he did toast the moment with an entire bottle of 30 year scotch. After leaving Spinner's End behind, he turned his attention to the old Prince Manor. The title to the dilapidated manor was transferred to him upon the death of his last cousin five years previous, but he was too preoccupied at the time to devote his time to restoring the property. The roof was sunken in from water damage, half of the windows were broken, and a family of chimeras had taken up residence on the bottom floor, but he was a wizard- and a talented one at that- and made quick work of the place. It was not as grand as it once was in the prime of the Prince family, but it was comfortable and functional.

He had stepped down from his position as Headmaster at Hogwarts almost immediately after the Final Battle. Despite the heart wrenching feeling of deliberately walking away from the job he had dreamed of for so many years, he knew that the children would never feel safe with him as Headmaster. Severus spent many sleepless nights stalking the halls of Prince Manor as he once did Hogwarts before he finally came to terms with his new future. After surviving Nagani's bite thanks to a healthy dose of antivenin and a blood replenishing potion (and a very clever witch), Severus was met with suspicion. The Boy Who Refused to Die announced his true allegiance to the world, affording him some degree of forgiveness from the general public, but even a proclamation from Boy Wonder couldn't keep Wizengamot at bay.

His trial was the first on the docket and lasted two full days. Most of the Elders were good buddies of Dumbledore and were hard pressed to believe that their friend would make such a careless mistake let alone arrange his own death. However, with sufficient evidence in the form of memories and testimonies from Harry Potter and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, they were persuaded to believe that perhaps Severus Snape was acting on orders, even if they did not like his dark demeanor. The other Elders, the ones that had not known Albus, held firm to the belief that everyone with the Dark Mark ought to rot in Azkaban until the end of their days- that was until Minerva McGonagall testified. She read a letter, with watery eyes and a pinched brow, which proved that Albus had not left Severus alone with the his knowledge of his own innocence as he had once thought. Upon the death of Voldemort, a letter appeared on Minerva's desk with Albus' magical seal. In the missive, he explained his plan. He told of machinations of the Order, Severus' role as spy, the curse on the ring and its consequences, and his plan to preserve Draco's innocence while affirming Severus' place among the Death Eaters to better help him assist Harry Potter in defeating the Dark Lord.

If the letter did not fully convince the remaining few of his innocence, the final witnesses did. Harry Potter waxed poetic on Severus' everlasting love for Lily Potter and the sacrifices Severus had made that he had only recently come to realize. The whole while, Severus ground his teeth with fury as the few remaining details of his personal life was laid bare for the Wizarding world to pick apart and judge him for. He was an intensely private man, and having both his most treasured and darkest moments revealed in a public trial by none other than Harry Potter was humiliating. He endured through the his public mortification, though, with no more than a scowl because of Hermione Granger. The woman- who was much thinner and worn than the last time he saw her- did not look at him with pity, unbridled curiosity, or destain, but rather she looked at him as if he was proof that there was light in the darkness. That stare of reaffirmed hope brought him strength when he needed it most. When she stood witness before the court, she didn't blather drivel about his past or reveal their interactions over Christmas, but rather she told them of his actions. She smiled ever so slightly when she described his wound he received from the affectionally named Fluffy while trying to keep Quirrell away from the Stone and the counter curse he was muttering to keep Harry on his broom when she lit his robes on fire. Her eyes grew distant and wet as she recounted his arms pulling her behind him as he stood protectively between her friends and a werewolf.

Her testimony drew the trial to a close, and the next day, he was declared a free man.

The months following passed in a blur of house renovations, estate settlements, and avoiding attention from the reporters that wanted to know the dirty details of his life as a spy for their gossip rags. Suddenly, Severus found Christmas approaching and felt a sense of impending change. He had planned for years to reciprocate her present with one of his own once the time was right, and now that the time was upon him, and he was terrified. Her gift was sitting quietly on the corner of his desk wrapped neatly in silvery blue paper and tied with a simple brown string. The letter he planned on sending in addition had been sitting blank on his desk for nearly a week.

Finally admitting that it was both decidedly cowardly to be afraid of the repercussions of a simple letter and idiotic to have put it off for so long, he put his quill to the page.

 _Miss Hermione Granger,_

 _It is my wish that you find this Christmas a day of good cheer._

 _Yours,_

 _Master Severus Snape_

The note was painfully short, yet every time he set to explain the depth to which her presents meant to him over the years, he found himself held back. It felt like admitting weakness to tell her that a simple gift from his student was sometimes the highlight of his year, and he had never received gifts so thoughtful as hers. He held back writing about her intelligence, and how he wished he could have given her a better environment for her to fully discover the extent of her abilities. He did not write about his growing affection for her wit and vivacious personality. Instead, he folded the brief letter neatly and slipped it snugly under the twine around the present.

Gathering the last scraps of his courage, he tied the string to the foot of his black great horned owl named Lenore, and told her to take the gift to Hermione Granger. With a blink of her large orange eyes, she flew off into the night in a flutter of dark wings.

 **25 December, 1998**

Frantic knocking coming from the front door shook Severus from his Christmas routine. He was in the middle of an article on alternative uses for newt's eyes when the incessant sound tore his attention away. Grimacing at the thought of yet another journalist rapping at his door for an interview, he stalked toward the entry way. Wrenching the door open with a barb readied on his tongue, he found himself suddenly swallowed in a mass of chestnut curls and vanilla scented shampoo with arms wrapped like vises around his shocked form. "Wha-" he began, but was cut off by a feminine voice.

"Thank you so much! I can't tell you how much that meant to me," she nearly sobbed into his chest.

As quickly as he was attacked, she pulled back, but still kept her small hands resting on either side of stiff arms. "I've never received such a magnificent gift," Hermione Granger whispered, staring up at him with gratitude and a hint of something deeper in her eyes.

He looked down at her, shock still wracking his mind, as if he was finally seeing her for the first time. Her eyes were a colour of polished copper with just the tiniest hints of blue near her pupils. Freckles lightly dotted her nose and cheeks accenting the roundness of her bright eyes. Her cheeks were thin, but stretched into a brilliant smile that was made all the more enthusiastic by the bouncing, corkscrew curls that sprouted from her head at odd angles. She wore a baggy, lavender sweater that hung off her thin frame and made her seem impossibly small. She was radiant.

Glancing down at the bag that was strung across her shoulder, he saw a small box wrapped in silver paper with a green bow and a familiar worn book with flaking, gold letters emblazoned across the cover "Hogwarts: A History." First Edition.

"Would you like some tea?" He offered casually, as if he wasn't terrified she would say no.

Her grin could have outshone the sun. "I would love to."

 _ **A.N/ Merry (slightly late) Christmas. For all those that wanted a sweet ending to the story, I hope you enjoyed this final chapter. Editing took a bit longer than expected, but I hope that you'll forgive me for being a couple of hours late.**_

 ** _If you want this story to remain cheerful, your journey ends here. Thank you for reading. Feel free to leave a review with comments, critiques, or criticisms. I have one other completed Christmas story and three active stories if you want more. I hope you have had a lovely holiday._**

 ** _For those of you that enjoy the masochistic feeling of empathetic heartbreak, the second epilogue is for you._**


	5. Epilogue 2- The Sad Ending

**25 December, 1997**

Tears. Tears dripped down his long, hooked nose, as Severus Snape stood in the Headmaster's chambers and stared out at the school he had once felt of as a home. He was disheveled- his authoritarian, black robes were half buttoned, his greasy hair was tangled from aggressively running his hand through it, and dark smudges stained his under eye. No children were skittering around the courtyard or throwing snowballs beside the lake- nor would they. He finally had the position he had longed dreamed of achieving, but instead of the finest wizarding school in Europe, he was forced to oversee a prison. Every time he saw their hate-filled glares, heard their pained screams, or stood by as they ran away in fear, a bit of his heart shattered.

He longed, as a man dying of thirst dreams of water, to fire the Carrows and put up as many wards between the children and the outside world as possible. Severus wanted more than anything for Hogwarts to be safe. He wanted to be known as the greatest Headmaster the school had ever seen; he planned to separate the House Cup from the Quidditch cup, promote unity, and create a summer program for children from families such as his. Yet, he would be known as the cruel man that allowed the cruciatus curse to be used as a learning tool, and upon the takedown of the Dark Lord, he would lose any chance of retaining his position as Headmaster- for good reason. However, this knowledge didn't stop him from dreaming that it could be different.

Even Christmas served to exacerbate his feeling of abject, miserable solitude. His desk stood barren as Dumbledore's trinkets whirled and ticked around it. Dumbledore's eccentrically wrapped gift would never come- his only confidant was dead at his own hand. Minerva's simple brown package would not be waiting to add yet another green, tartan item to his house. Yet even worse, the third gift would not be niggling at his curious tendencies. Hermione Granger could be dead, and he would not know. Or, his traitorous mind reminded him, she could be alive and cursing his name as the man that killed her beloved Headmaster and allowed for the torture of her friends.

He steadfastly refused to admit it so himself, but he was waiting for her gift. A gift that, even as the chimes of the great grandfather clock rang out its last note of the day, never came.

Before he crawled into bed to wallow in his sorrow, he pulled out a document from a warded drawer on the left side of the desk. He stared down at the parchment, his eyes unseeing, for several minutes, before signing the bottom with his spiky script. When the parchment glowed gold, he rolled it up and placed it in a box next to a key.

That night, he dreamt watercolour dreams of silver presents with candy cane striped bows.

 **25 December, 1998**

 **Hermione Granger**

Hermione Granger lay in bed, curled under a worn green quilt, and stared up at the ceiling of Grimmauld Place, blinking away tears. This would be her first Christmas after the war. Unlike the hopes she had carried, this Christmas would not be with her family, nor would it include carefully wrapping a gift for her Potion's Master. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she remembered everything and everyone she had lost. There would be no more warm, vanilla scented mornings baking scones in the shape of snowflakes with her mum. No more rambunctious, off-tune Christmas carols with Sirius. No more staying up with her father and her worn out watercolour set painting delicate leaves on thick card stock while he would scratch in delicate, swirling words of Christmas cheer and tell stories she had already heard about Christmas' before. No more prickly Potion's professors to wrap a present for late on Christmas Eve after wasting away half the night debating for hours whether or not to add a post script to his card.

She could not muster up the courage to get out of bed and put on her mask of contentment in the face of overwhelming loss. Hermione knew that she was not the only one having a rough time, hell, she was probably not the only one of her friends silently crying in their bed on Christmas. Yet, she couldn't find the strength to lift the soft fabric from her body, so she laid there and cried.

Sometime later, Kreacher popped into her room to unceremoniously drop her presents at the foot of her bed. He looked at her prone form and sneered, "Flithy mudblood" before disapparating.

The pile of presents that laid crumpled on the floor seemed to mock her for wallowing in her sadness with their brightly colored bows and shiny wrapping. They looked as she felt: the potential for happiness crumpled up and forgotten on the ground. She was about to pull out her wand and remove the offending gifts from her eyesight when one of them caught her eye. It wasn't wrapped in overly-cheerful paper and topped off with a glittering bow like the rest, but rather it was a intricately carved ebony box that sat humbly and unassumingly off to the side.

Curiosity seemed to energize her worn out body, and she slipped her wand from underneath her pillow and summoned the box. Propping herself up with a pile of pillows, she studied the box with a keen eye. The top was bordered with Celtic knots weaving in and out of one another. In the center was a willow tree overlooking a lake, it's carved branches frozen in a gentle wave. Adorning the sides were animals running lithely through swirls of grass. It was gorgeous. Oh so carefully, she opened the lid.

Inside was a strange assortment of objects. Three rolled up lengths of parchment each sealed with green wax took up almost the entirety of the box, and a large, gold key, a smaller brass key, and a tiny vial of gold liquid made up the rest. She lightly ran her finger over the largest key, and it shivered with recognition, making her frown. She knew the feeling of objects recognizing their masters, and this key recognized her. What had she just become master of? Figuring the answers laid in the parchment, she carefully removed the wax on the first scroll. Her eyes noticed the "P" formed by a curling snake, but her heart did not want to admit what it meant. The letter began with spiky script that ripped away the fragile stitches her heart had created after being torn apart only a few months ago.

 _Miss Hermione Granger,_

 _If you received this letter, I have lost my life in the war. Hopefully, Voldemort has been defeated, and you are safe._

 _For the last eighteen years, I was a spy for the Order and that responsibility came at a price I still believe I am more than willing to pay. Some sins can only be washed away with one's own blood. I do, however, have a few regrets. One of which remains to be my treatment of you._

 _As a spy, I was unable to show any interest in students outside of Slytherin House or risk unfavorable attention. It is my regret that I was unable to offer you the encouragement and tutulage that would have made you truly excel in Potions. While you do have a propensity for spewing forth direct quotations from your textbook that serves to irritate me to no end, you have a passion for academics and a work ethic that should be coveted. I cannot blame my temperament solely on my duties as a spy, as I have never been known to be courteous, but had everything been different, I would have taken you as an apprentice. It is my hope that you take this adulation and push yourself to become greater. I do not know your experiences in the past year, but I wish that you learn to think for yourself and to constantly question the world around you- it is the mark of true intelligence._

 _I also wish to give my thanks for the Christmas gifts you have sent over the years. The contents of this box are my gift to you. Inside is a copy of my Will, the key to my house in Spinner's End, the key to my Gringotts' vault, and a single dose of Felix Felicis. It is not nearly as much as I wish I could give._

 _Master Severus T. Snape_

Hermione stared his name, written in the calligraphy she used to see every day at Hogwarts, and shattering grief overcame her mind like a tsunami decimating an unsuspecting isle. Sobs wracked her body as she clutched the letter protectively to her chest. She did not know how long she sat like that- her body curled around a piece of parchment that had come to mean so much to her in so little time. When her eyes eventually dried, she slowly pried the parchment from her chest, inspected it for damage, then carefully rolled in back and placed it back in the box. The only physical sign of her interference being a crumple in the parchment and a broken seal. Yet, she could feel the fissure in her heart and knew that although she had refused to admit it before, Severus Snape held a great deal of power over her heart. That letter had broken her heart more than Ron's tryst with Lavendar Brown, more than Ron leaving, and much more than the awkward talk about 'just being friends' after the war was over.

Gathering her Gryffindor courage, she steeled herself for more heart-wrenching tears, and picked up the second scroll. It was smaller, yet held more gravity than the last.

The second scroll read:

 _I, Severus Tobias Snape, hereby name the sole heir to my estate as Hermione Jean Granger. Upon my death, she shall receive the key and complete access to the Vault 2204 and Vault 104 and the contents therein. The title to the house and land at 13 Mill Rd Spinner's End, Manchester shall be transferred to the name Hermione Jean Granger for her to use or to sell at her discretion. The possessions that remain at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shall be the property of Hermione Jean Granger and collected at her convenience._

 _I, Severus Tobias Snape, name Hermione Jean Granger the sole heir to the House of Prince with all of the rights and privileges therein. Any lands or titles shall be transferred upon the opening of Vault 104._

 _I hereby state that I, Severus Tobias Snape, am in clear mind and declare this to be my last will and testament. I revoke all former wills and codicils I have written before._

 _Severus Tobias Snape_

 _25 December, 1997_

Hermione Granger, in all of the books she had scoured through in the Hogwarts and Black library knew very little on the law pertaining Wills and the estates of Purebloods. However, she knew that the small parchment she held was life changing. Severus Snape had named Hermione Granger his heir and the heir of the Prince family. The thought was nearly absurd. When she had read his first missive, she was lead to believe that his will would possibly leave her with some Potion's equipment and books, but nothing more. Yet, here she was, staring down at a scroll that left her two estates. There was a masochistic sort of hope that began churning in Hermione's mind like a hurricane readying itself to touch down on land and destroy everything in its path.

With a fervor that one would describe as nearly psychotic, she grabbed the third scroll. It was much heavier than the rest. Her inquisitive fingers made quick work of the familiar seal, and as the parchment unraveled, a small vial fell into her lap. A craving came over her as sudden as the hope that was wrecking the last vestiges of her heart. She _needed_ to see his words. She _needed_ to see him one last time, even if it was only in the form of his acerbic scrawl.

The final scroll read:

 _Hermione,_

 _There are many situations in life where I have found that words cannot adequately express the depth of human emotion. Perhaps these memories would provide better insight into mine._

 _Severus_

 _P.S. If these memories see anyone's eyes but your own, do not believe that I will not force my way back through the veil and haunt every second of your existence._

The tiny glass vial the scroll was wrapped around swirled with silvery threads that caught the light, almost twinkling up at her with their secrets. Daring her to unveil the memories of a precocious man. Purpose overtook her. She reverently rolled up the scroll and placed it into its original place along with the vial of memories, and laid the beautiful box at the foot of her bed. With all possessions of delicate nature out of range, she tore her way out from under the covers encasing her.

Her movements were jerky and quick as she raced into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and tied her bouncing curls into a knot at the base of her skull. When she was back in her room, she wrenched the doors open on her wardrobe and set about finding an appropriate outfit. Donning a deep blue jumper and her least ripped pair of jeans, she shoved boots on her feet, and carefully picked up the box. Without hesitation, she marched through the silent house toward the floo. Miraculously, her sobs and frantic rush to leave were left unnoticed by the other inhabitant of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Thus, no one followed when Hermione announced, Minerva McGonagall's office- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and walked into the green flames.

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall cast a gimlet eye as she listened to the request of her favorite pupil. Hermione was manic. She _needed_ to know- she had to see what was in those memories. So, she pleaded to her former Head of House for the use of the pensieve as if she was begging God for one last breath. The older woman looked as if she was about to deny her request, but saw her bloodshot eyes and the tracks of old tears and reluctantly lead her to the cabinet that held the basin.

As she levitated out the large flat bowl filled with rippling silvery liquid, she cast one last worried glance down at Hermione before reminding her, "be careful. I will be in my chambers. Knock if you need me."

Her practical heels clicked across the stone floor until she reached the stairs to her chambers. When the door clicked shut behind the Headmistress, Hermione reverently opened the lid to the wood box and brought out the vial from the last scroll. Using her wand to extract the precious silver thread from the glass, she slowly lowered it into the water. The second the memories touched the liquid, they swirled with raw emotion, creating a small storm on the surface of the water. She dove in headfirst.

Hermione found herself in the same office she had just left, but rather than Minerva McGonagall sitting behind the large mahogany desk with her hair pulled back into a severe bun and her brow furrowed as she focused on the work in front of her, she found Severus Snape. He was looming over the desk with the demeanor of a man about to face the gallows. His cheeks were sunken in and his lank, black hair was hanging over his eyes, obscuring his tumultuous thoughts from the world.

He sighed and looked straight toward where she was standing, seeing through her, his eyes flickering with defeat. All around him, littering the desk, were crumpled up sheets of parchment and empty pots of ink. Slowly stepping forward, she saw they were all letters addressed to her. She sucked in a ragged breath as her chest tightened with impending dread. Her feet carried her forward on their own will, as if driven by morbid curiosity until she was standing a breaths distance from his broad back. On the desk her eyes caught the sight of a single piece of unmarred parchment laying in the center among piles of discarded paper. It read:

 _Hermione,_

 _I fear that I cannot express how ardently I admire you._

 _Always yours,_

 _Severus_

She fell to her knees. The pain ripping through her soul was too much for her to bear. Her fragile world was crumpling around her as her heart was carelessly torn open by words that she had never even dared to imagine seeing. She was surrounded by the whisperings of a world she could never have, but she found she desperately wanted. Memory Severus had sat down in the tall-backed chair, running his fingers through his greasy locks, mumbling to himself, "What would be the point? She'll think—She couldn't…just affection…"

Hermione didn't know when she was pulled out of the memory or when she started weeping. Minerva found her clutching the intricately carved ebony box to her chest like a life line murmuring, "I loved you too" through her agonizing sobs.

 _ **A.N./ I truly adored writing this story. It was not a grand romance, but it goes to show that true love lies in the small, yet meaningful actions we do for**_ ** _each other. I hope you enjoyed this ending, even if it was a bit sad. Feel free to review with comments, critiques, or criticisms. I hope you had a lovely holiday._**

 ** _P.S. A detail I wanted to share, but couldn't find a good place to put it. The little bottle of Felix Felicis that he leaves for her in the box had a small note tied around it which said "For the joy you have given me, I hope that you can have one truly amazing day in return."_**


	6. The Epilogue's Epilogue: Happy Ending

**_If you can't tell by just how long after the Epilogues this is posted, I have been obsessing over this story for half a year. There were small details or scenes I didn't include in the final draft, because I wanted the story to be concise and leave a bit to the imagination. However- this scene I had to write. It's been bumbling around in my head for too long, and I think it'll bring closure to the 'Good Ending' Epilogue._**

 ** _So, I present the epilogue's epilogue._**

Hermione's soft footsteps trailed after his own as he swept toward the kitchen at the back of the house. He could hear her breath spike and her pace slow every time she caught a glimpse of a bookshelf. It was lovely to know that some things never changed.

When they had reached the kitchen, he turned around just in time to catch her slow, indulgent smile as she took in the room. The galley style kitchen sat to the right and was lined with deep oak cabinets that complemented the white marble counters and forest green walls. To the left of the doorway was another door leading to the garden and a small, round kitchen table that had a tartan green runner along the top. Light poured in through three large windows along the back wall, making the otherwise dark room fairly inviting. The room was one of Severus' favorites, and it brought him pride to know that she approved of his design choices.

Pulling a chair out from the small table, he beckoned her to sit. She sat and stared at him in silent awe as he maneuvered around the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil, and putting together a tray. Deciding upon a fairly mild breakfast tea, he piled the tray high with cream, sugar, and biscuits before filling the teapot and bringing it all to the table. As he seated himself across from her, he found a sort of restless anxiety in the silence of her bewilderment. "I hope you do not mind breakfast tea. I haven't been to the store recently to pick up anything else," he mumbled, setting his attention on pouring tea for them both.

He realized his mistake when she replied. "How did you know I like my tea with cream, not sugar?"

In a vain attempt at preoccupying himself, he forgot himself and made her tea he way he knew she liked it. Hiding his embarrassment under his usual mask of detached boredom, he kept his eyes on his own cup while he carefully stirred in a small spoonful of honey and drawled, "I was a spy, Miss Granger. I know a great many things about a great many people." Knowing how someone takes their tea was not a part of his usual duties, but she did not need to know that he had picked up the information while observing her to figure out her Christmas present in 1993 and kept the knowledge ever since.

She eyed him as if she didn't believe a word he said, but after thirty seconds, her face transformed into a wide grin. "It looks like you kept busy. How long did it take to get this place up and running?"

The change of conversation brought him a bit more confidence and eased his nerves. Leaning back in his chair, his cuppa wrapped protectively in-between his hands, he met her gaze. "Only a few months. The physical issues were not nearly as bad as dealing with the Goblin's at Gringotts when I formally took ownership of the Prince Estate."

Her face lit up as she chuckled softly. "I can imagine. They haven't let me access my own account yet- war hero or not- because of the damages we caused."

Severus had heard of their break-in in passing a couple of months after the end of the war, and while he was mildly curious about the details of their escapade then, he was extremely curious now. It was not every day the the Goblins of Gringotts held someone's account hostage for damages to the property. "Indulge me in the tale, if you would. I have yet to get a full account of your _adventures_ ," he commanded silkily, hoping that his eagerness to spend time with her did not show through.

She gave him an exasperated smile over her mug of tea. "I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked to tell the stories of our _grand adventures_. But I suppose I can suffer through one last time," she remarked dramatically with a wink. Hermione Granger just winked at him. Truly the world had ended—or she had gone mad in the year she was left with her two buffoon friends as her only companions.

"I suppose you know what a horcrux is at this point," she began with a delightfully mischievous glint in her eye.

He was entranced by her— both in the experiences she had managed to survive and the full, sweet tones of her voice as she delved into a dramatic re-telling of her last year and a half of life. He had never encountered Hermione Granger in such a relaxed setting. It led him to question whether she was normally so full of life and he merely saw her academic shadow in the past, or if her personality had changed significantly since she was a sixth year Defense student. Either way, he found himself enjoying this Hermione Granger. She showed far too much emotion on her face, waved her hands wildly as she spoke of exciting happenings, and smiled at him like he was actually worthy of being smiled at.

As she began winding toward the end of her story, her voice grew weary with use and emotion. After she had told him of their spectacularly terrifying dragon ride that ended in a long swim, she suddenly turned somber. Hermione looked up at him with a steady, dark gaze. "You scared me, you know," her voice cracked as she abruptly changed subjects. "I don't know what I would have done—" she began, but stopped. She flushed and turned her head, afraid or embarrassed of what came out of her mouth next. "Don't ever do that to me again," she demanded while staring resolutely at her cup, her eyes glazed with tears.

Severus was struck with her unanticipated shift in mood. Why would a young woman that he was neutral towards, at best, care about his life? The answer clawed at him from a box he had shoved toward the very back of his mind. However, Severus worked best off of logic and reason. Logic would tell him that the woman across from him could share none of the admiration that had unwillingly developed in his heart. She must have been distressed by the potential loss of an academic or the sight of his ghastly wounds. Yet, the heart rarely pays attention to logic and reason, and Severus found his own pulse beating a bit faster at the idea of her caring being extended to himself.

"Unless one of your disgruntled former classmates has more potential than I foresaw, becomes a dark lord, and makes it passed my wards and my wand, I doubt I will find my life at the fangs of a giant snake again," he quipped, sarcastically- hoping to avoid tears and spilt feelings.

She gave him a quick glare without heat before returning her melancholy gaze back to her cup. She looked as if she was about to say more on the topic when her expression changed in a flash."Oh. I forgot!" She squeaked, her face blushing ever so slightly. Digging into her bag, she withdrew the silver box he had seen before. "Here's your present," she declared, setting it between them on the table, then looking back up at him expectantly.

The girl was a whirlwind of emotion.

He truly despised unwrapping gifts in front of others, but with one look into her pleading eyes that were still filled with tears and a trace of anguish, he took the package into his hands. He turned his sole attention to gently pulling back the green bow and carefully peeling back the silvery paper to distract himself from her soulful eyes.

On top of a small, unassuming brown box was her card.

There was no Yule greeting decorating the front. The year's card was painted almost entirely in hues of cold grey. A lone, fir tree stood in the foreground, presenting it's solitude like a badge of honor amongst the crumbled spires of Hogwarts in the background. The scene somehow held the all of the feelings he had felt directly after the war: a tiny sliver of hope and courage among a swath of loss and misery. The only vibrant color was a bright yellow star atop the tree, shining through the desolation. It was hauntingly beautiful.

Not wanting to lose sight of the scene, but knowing he couldn't stare at it all day, he slowly opened the card to find her familiar rounded script.

" _Master Severus Snape,_

 _I hope you have a Happy Christmas._

 _Yours,_

 _Hermione J. Granger_

 _P.S. This gift comes with obligations."_

He briefly looked up to see her grinning at him cheekily. The sight made him wary to open the box. Narrowing his eyes at her, he pulled out his wand and cast a rapid series of detections spells on the box. They all came back with white flashes. Damn her. Casting one last glare at the girl who was far too happy with herself for his liking, he removed the box lid, grumbling, "This better not be a puppy."

Inside was a tea set. A large, white teapot sat in the center, decorated with delicate ivy and a little otter chasing a fox. Two, presumably matching, teacups sat on either side. The sight was far too domestic for her normal gift, and it offset him slightly. He should not have worried though, for when he picked up the teacup on the right to inspect it, he was greeted with a sight that sent him into peeling laughter.

 _Hermione_ was written in elegant script along the side of the cup.

When his laughter died down to a mere chuckle and he felt safe to pick up the other cup, he saw exactly what he thought he would. _Severus_ was written in the same looping calligraphy. "Normal people would just ask to have tea," he quipped, his black eyes shining with mirth.

Her face flushed ever so slightly, but she grinned back at him. "You're not exactly a normal person."

He acquiesced with a nod, and began pulling the porcelain from the tissue paper, delicately laying the new tea set on the counter to be washed.

"There is one more gift," she said, quieter this time as if the second present was a secret between the two of them.

He looked back at her, but she was staring resolutely at the box full of tissue paper. Sitting back down, he carefully began pulling white tissue paper from the box. He was bewildered at the mention of another present. He had yet to fully process the implications of her previous gift, thus he found himself overwhelmed by the book that laid at the bottom of the box.

 _Advanced Potion Making_. It was his old Potion's book from from sixth year.

"I hated that book when Harry had it," she began, still staring at the box instead of his eyes which seemed to bore into her skull with their intensity. "He followed the instructions without thought—something Ginny had done to her detriment—but instead he was rewarded for it. I had worked so hard in Potions to be able to take N.E.W.T level, and yet he was allowed in on a rule change and did better than me with no work on his part. I was glad when he dumped it in the Room, but when we were searching for the diadem, I saw it. I don't know why I picked it up and took it with me, but I guess I couldn't let useful information get buried away. I thought you might like it back."

Severus was speechless. His mind was pulling him in a dozen different directions. He was relieved to have his old book back—after Harry had used Sectumsepra, he realized the repercussions of a student finding the book. The book, however, was nearly useless to him other than sentimental value. His heart thumped a little unevenly thinking of the implications of her taking time to retrieve the book in the middle of a war; he did not want her to risk her life for such a thing. She had also shared her feelings on the book, which left him uneasy. Was she trying to initiate some sort of sharing of feelings? On that note, what had she meant by 'yours' in her note?

Severus had hardly noticed his hands picking up the beaten up textbook or his thumb tracing the flaky title. "I…," he started, but words failed him. The two presents held so much meaning, he did not know how to go about a response.

A whisper at the back of his mind said, "words cannot adequately express the depth of human emotion." He was unsure where the saying had originated, but he knew that actions would speak louder than words. Gathering up courage he had believed he left the last of on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, he took her hand in his own. Her eyes immediately snapped to his, her mouth forming a little 'o' in surprise, and her neck began to redden.

"Thank you very much," he murmured, trying to put the entirety of his gratitude into his tone. "Though, I would hope that next time you find yourself in the middle of a war, you would not stop for a book," he added with a smirk.

She looked pleased with herself, despite the glare she attempted to give him for his last comment. Deciding the moment was over, he moved to take his hand back, but was stilled by the smallest of movements. Hermione's thumb gently rubbed a circle on the back of his hand. He hoped she could not hear his breath catch.

"How about you show me your library," she offered, taking the attention away from their conjoined hands. "A house like this certainly has one."

The suggestion was not subtle, and Severus felt his mouth go dry at what she was proposing. She implied wanted to stay and see his house, just as the teapot implied she wanted to see him regularly. He didn't dare entertain the thought that she could reciprocate his affections, even if her thrice damned thumb that kept rubbing circles on his hand said otherwise. "As you wish," he consented with a reluctant sigh, knowing that she would be hard pressed to leave his home once she was in the library. He couldn't find it within himself to be annoyed, rather, he found a small bit of delight in the minute pout she gave when he released her hand to stand up, that was quickly replaced with a bright grin when he offered his hand to help her out of her chair.

The walk to the library was interesting. Severus would occasionally regale her with either a tidbit of history regarding the Prince family or stories of an especially difficult obstacle he had with renovation. The whole time, she would listen with rapt attention and pop in with her own insightful comments. However, the stimulating conversation was not what made Severus distinctly off-balance: it was her small touches. She would lightly touch his elbow when she would ask about a curious architectural feature, her hand would skim his as they rounded corners, and once she grabbed onto his arm when she stumbled on a warped floorboard. He was a man whose personal space was larger than most rooms and rarely felt the need to have physical contact with other humans. Thus, her easiness with light caresses startled him into rigidity.

By the time they reached the first floor library, his shoulders were so stiff he believed they may never relax again. Her little touches drove him insane, and his resolve to remain proper was being tested with each brush of her tanned skin. He was granted a bit of reprieve upon their entrance, for her wandering hands drifted away from his person and toward the tall shelves lining the walls.

Seeing her glazed over eyes as she ran her finger lightly along a shelf, he allowed himself to breathe. He settled into a regal looking, dark brown armchair in the middle of the room, and picked up the book he had set down the previous night.

"I have a few questions," she started abruptly, pulling Severus out of his content reading.

She sat across from him in a deep burgundy, wingbacked smoking chair with a gleam of uninhibited courage winking from her chocolate eyes. _Layering Charms and Spell Creating Vol. 1_ was gripped between her hands as she leaned towards him.

"Imagine that," Severus remarked, snarkily.

She continued as if he had never spoke. A fact that would have left him the tiniest bit miffed if her following words hadn't taken away his ability to think.

"Why? A first edition of Hogwarts: A History would cost a fortune if I even knew where to look to buy it—so why would you either go through the pain of finding it or the cost of buying it for me? You barely seemed to tolerate me during Hogwarts. Even after the bloody war was over, I haven't heard or spoken to you since your trial. So, why me? Why now?"

Somehow his brain worked enough to spit out a decent answer while his mind whirled. "It was the least I could do after seven years of Yule gifts." He could see it in her eyes that she didn't believe him for one second. If her first line of question left him unable to think, her second left him unable to breathe.

"Did you mean it?" She asked, her eyes steady on his and her voice a low whisper. A spark of something, likely powered by a Gryffindor trait, twinkled in her chocolate eyes. "Did you mean it when you said you were _mine_?"

He was pretty sure his heart stopped. When he wrote her letter, the small little word had taken him the longest to pen. _Yours_. He meant it. Despite pushing away thoughts behind occulmency shields, he had somehow found his heart slowly attaching itself to Hermione Granger. He had intended, like Lily before, to keep his budding affection a secret. Hermione was not only 20 years his younger, but a former student. It was horribly improper, yet however he tried to rid himself of such feelings, they kept coming back in force. The warm feeling in his chest he felt when he thought of her started as merely gratitude and tenderness for a bright student that cared enough to have seen past his rough exterior. In her fourth year, the warmth turned into caring for a girl that truly had faith in him. Last year, caring turned into affection when she had given him a reason to live beyond atoning for his mistakes— to live for the people who believed him worth living.

His mouth opened to spew forth some sort of hastily made denial when she whispered softly, "I meant it."

Severus sputtered as his heart twitched at her words. "Miss Granger! I am twenty years your senior and your former professor. What you're suggesting is im-"

Eyes alight with passion, Hermione stood. "Improper?" She spat, prowling toward him as he rose to his feet. "How can you talk about impropriety as if it has ever been important to you? You, the man that would growl at anyone that annoyed you, no matter their position. The man that would grumble about everyone being hopeless dunderheads merely because you were in a mood. And twenty years is nothing in comparison to the lifespan you and I expect. And if we live well into our old age, six years of my being your student would seem like the blink of an eye in comparison to the rest of our time. Now, either tell me what your real issue is or that my feelings are not reciprocated." She was shaking, partially from anger, but also because she had just told her former professor and Ex-Deatheater that she had amorous feelings for him, and she was terrified she misinterpreted his actions and letters.

Severus' mind was spinning. What reason did he have to deny the witch? Yes, she was his former student- a fact which would likely be brought up for the rest of their lives should they pursue any sort of relationship- but why was he denying himself a second chance at happiness? Here was a woman that he had come to care for greatly, telling him that she wishes to have him- why was he so reluctant? _Because she will never understand the horrible deeds I have committed,_ his mind whispered. "Do you really want to be with someone that has tortured and murdered?" He murmured, daring her to give up on her romantic notions of his heroism.

Her whisky eyes flashed, at this point she was a breath away. "You think I don't know torture and death?" She sneered. He looked down at her, and saw lines etched into her tan face- lines he knew from experience came from screaming. "Not only was I tortured, beaten, and nearly killed on occasion, but I gave back as good as I got. I've cast the bombarda that ended with a man's head flattened against a wall. I don't regret it, but seeing him fear me for that second before his death still weighs on me, and that's the only reason I know I'm not dark. In my dreams, I hear Crabbe screaming as he slowly burned to death before I closed the door to the Room- locking him in a burning room. I still feel Bellatrix's knife cutting into my throat. I know what it feels like to cast the spell that puts someone at my mercy. After all, _someone_ had to teach Harry _Imperio_ for us to control the goblin. I have kept someone prisoner before we were even at war." Her hair was crackling and passionate fire lit her eyes as she dressed him down. If he didn't think that she would bite him for his timing, he thought he could probably muster the courage to kiss her. There was something about her bearing her soul that seemed to be as beaten and bruised as his that felt like he could endure any ridicule to coexist with someone that understood.

Her voice lowered, and with it, her voice wavered with tears. "Do you want to be with someone that has been tortured and has murdered?"

In her moment of vulnerability, he didn't see a caring young woman that was twenty years his junior, but a woman as broken on the inside as himself. He hardly noticed his hand reaching toward her face until he was nearly touching her freckled cheeks. His hand wavered with indecision for a second, before his thumb glided across her cheekbone with the softest of touches. "Yes," he replied honestly.

Her eyes which had darkened and shattered with every confession of sin, sparked with a mixture of triumph and happiness, but the spark wavered. "Do you mean it?" She asked, her throat constricting with the uncomfortable squeezing that is felt in one's chest when they offer their heart to someone new.

"Always," he vowed.

His long fingers wound into her wild curls, and he offered her his battered, bruised heart with a slow, caressing kiss.

 _ **A.N. To all of those that enjoyed the original story: I hope this finally wraps up the story with a pretty silver bow. And to all those that read my other stories: I hope that expelling this from my head will finally get me to focus on my on-going stories.**_

 _ **Happy Summer.**_


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